home. less.
My family has never been super into traditions, but when i was a kid-and in fact, well into my teens-we at least had certain routines for the holidays. Thanksgiving was either celebrated in the mountains with my mother's sister and her family, or it was in Anaheim with my paternal grandmother and my dad's siblings. Christmas was a marathon obstacle course of breakfast-visits with my mom's three sisters and then the seemingly epic drive to my grandmother's house where my sister and I would gleefully open presents and show off the ones we'd gotten earlier in the day. Oh, and there was food on both occasions. Homemade food. Food that I did not eat for the most part, but still, it was made by family and what I had of it was good. There were squabbles, stupid conversations with people that you didn't really want to talk to, bad ties, annoying questions about boyfriends, etc. . . . but it felt like the holidays. And in its own way, that was good.
Once I moved away (first to England, then back to Berkeley, then Chicago, and for a while now, New York), I focused more on going home for Christmas and started skipping out on family Thanksgiving. I never liked it as much, I hated being offered turkey every year by family members who'd "forgotten" that I'd been a vegetarian since I was roughly 12, and besides, the better holiday is clearly the one with presents. In lieu of my grandmother's homemade cranberry sauce and a gravy boat filled with my mother's attempt at cooking, I've enjoyed the holiday each year with good friends and have loved every single one of them, whether I was surrounded by dozens of other Thanksgiving Orphans, or if I was adopted by another family as one of theirs. In fact, I began to really look forward to Thanksgiving in a way I never had before. A holiday I'd once thought of as not-so-important has become one of my favorites. I guess that's why I'm having such a problem with the fact that I'm going home this year.
With my mother's health up in the air, and my grandmother's health on a very steep decline, I thought being in LA for both Thanksgiving and Christmas was just the thing to do. I knew my mother and sister (and sister's boyfriend) had stopped going to my father's family's Thanksgiving dinner, and that they celebrated on their own . . . but I never realized how depressing it would be. Apparently, my sister has made reservations at some chain restaurant for us to have dinner at 10:30 in the morning, because that's when she could get us a guaranteed table. Not only does this mean eating dinner at breakfast-time, but it also means eating mediocre-at-best restaurant food instead of the lovingly-made homemade food I've grown accustomed to, and quite honestly cherish. Plus, we won't even be in a comfy house-we'll be in some horrible restaurant, poorly decorated with cornucopias of crap. I am not pleased.
I've tried making my mother aware of my disappointment, but know better than to go too heavy-handed or to make her feel guilty, since I am going home in an attempt to cheer her up . . . and I'm fully aware that making her feel bad about how she celebrates a holiday isn't exactly going to achieve that. I did, however, suggest calling Jerry's Deli or something and ordering a Thanksgiving spread that we could eat together at Melissa's house, but apparently my mom really has her heart set on food from this crap restaurant. My next suggestion was that we go to the restaurant at 10:30, pick up the food and take it back to my sister's, where I can at least make homemade mashed potatoes and steam up some veggies. Then, we can watch some movies, hang out, and eat all of the food (restaurant-bought AND homemade) at a more reasonable hour. This idea has not been entirely shot down yet. I'm waiting on that.
But I guess what's bothering me most is that I just don't really feel like I have a home to go back to at the holidays. Celebrations haven't happened at my grandmother's in years, because she's been too sick or weak to deal with all of the planning and cleanup-but at least my dad's family carries on at my cousin's house where although things aren't ideal, at least they're doing something. My mother, on the other hand, refuses to participate, but doesn't do anything else either. She has this whole quick, cheap and disposable philosophy on holidays that she thinks is modern or better than what we had when I was a kid, but I don't think she realizes it just makes me feel hollow inside. A few years ago, I came home for Christmas to find that my mother had left all of our treasured holiday decorations in the attic, and had instead bought some super gaudy fake tree with a slew of matching, shiny, character-less ornaments to hang all over it. She loved it and kept going on and on about how easy it had been to set up and what a "good deal" she'd gotten on it. It didn't feel like Christmas at all. I felt physically sick and eventually started yelling at her before locking myself in my room for hours.
I know I'm not a good sport. I know I'm whining. I know I have things a lot better than a lot of people, and that I'm totally missing the point of this holiday by not being more thankful for what I do have, but right now, I'm just missing what I had . . . and thinking about how probably in the future I will be home less and less for holidays.
Once I moved away (first to England, then back to Berkeley, then Chicago, and for a while now, New York), I focused more on going home for Christmas and started skipping out on family Thanksgiving. I never liked it as much, I hated being offered turkey every year by family members who'd "forgotten" that I'd been a vegetarian since I was roughly 12, and besides, the better holiday is clearly the one with presents. In lieu of my grandmother's homemade cranberry sauce and a gravy boat filled with my mother's attempt at cooking, I've enjoyed the holiday each year with good friends and have loved every single one of them, whether I was surrounded by dozens of other Thanksgiving Orphans, or if I was adopted by another family as one of theirs. In fact, I began to really look forward to Thanksgiving in a way I never had before. A holiday I'd once thought of as not-so-important has become one of my favorites. I guess that's why I'm having such a problem with the fact that I'm going home this year.
With my mother's health up in the air, and my grandmother's health on a very steep decline, I thought being in LA for both Thanksgiving and Christmas was just the thing to do. I knew my mother and sister (and sister's boyfriend) had stopped going to my father's family's Thanksgiving dinner, and that they celebrated on their own . . . but I never realized how depressing it would be. Apparently, my sister has made reservations at some chain restaurant for us to have dinner at 10:30 in the morning, because that's when she could get us a guaranteed table. Not only does this mean eating dinner at breakfast-time, but it also means eating mediocre-at-best restaurant food instead of the lovingly-made homemade food I've grown accustomed to, and quite honestly cherish. Plus, we won't even be in a comfy house-we'll be in some horrible restaurant, poorly decorated with cornucopias of crap. I am not pleased.
I've tried making my mother aware of my disappointment, but know better than to go too heavy-handed or to make her feel guilty, since I am going home in an attempt to cheer her up . . . and I'm fully aware that making her feel bad about how she celebrates a holiday isn't exactly going to achieve that. I did, however, suggest calling Jerry's Deli or something and ordering a Thanksgiving spread that we could eat together at Melissa's house, but apparently my mom really has her heart set on food from this crap restaurant. My next suggestion was that we go to the restaurant at 10:30, pick up the food and take it back to my sister's, where I can at least make homemade mashed potatoes and steam up some veggies. Then, we can watch some movies, hang out, and eat all of the food (restaurant-bought AND homemade) at a more reasonable hour. This idea has not been entirely shot down yet. I'm waiting on that.
But I guess what's bothering me most is that I just don't really feel like I have a home to go back to at the holidays. Celebrations haven't happened at my grandmother's in years, because she's been too sick or weak to deal with all of the planning and cleanup-but at least my dad's family carries on at my cousin's house where although things aren't ideal, at least they're doing something. My mother, on the other hand, refuses to participate, but doesn't do anything else either. She has this whole quick, cheap and disposable philosophy on holidays that she thinks is modern or better than what we had when I was a kid, but I don't think she realizes it just makes me feel hollow inside. A few years ago, I came home for Christmas to find that my mother had left all of our treasured holiday decorations in the attic, and had instead bought some super gaudy fake tree with a slew of matching, shiny, character-less ornaments to hang all over it. She loved it and kept going on and on about how easy it had been to set up and what a "good deal" she'd gotten on it. It didn't feel like Christmas at all. I felt physically sick and eventually started yelling at her before locking myself in my room for hours.
I know I'm not a good sport. I know I'm whining. I know I have things a lot better than a lot of people, and that I'm totally missing the point of this holiday by not being more thankful for what I do have, but right now, I'm just missing what I had . . . and thinking about how probably in the future I will be home less and less for holidays.